A Disney Villain Christmas Carol
by bluethunder25
Summary: The Disney Villains reluctantly participate in a play production of 'A Christmas Carol.' Can the villainous rogues gallery pull off this long cherished holiday classic or will the whole thing end being a humbug?
1. The Play Begins

That most wondrous time of year had befallen on the Magic Kingdom once again. The time when wreaths were hung on the doors, when glowing evergreens filled the streets, mistletoe and holly as far as the eye could see and bright, beautiful lights lit up each and every one of the buildings. It was Christmastime as a gentle snowfall fell on the streets of Main Street, the citizens of the town as well as the other lands gathered in front of Cinderella Castle.

Now it was no secret that the Disney villains were not to keen on Christmas. In fact, the very idea of joy and goodwill utterly disgusted them. The idea of men and women being good to one another, peace on earth, giving and sharing, was enough to repulse them to an extent of almost intestinal regurgitation. So based on this, one would find it most surprising that in the dressing quarters of Cinderella Castle, an array of villains, from Maleficent, to Hans, Mother Gothel, and Frollo to name a few, were dressed in Victorian wear, preparing for to go out on stage for their interpretation of 'A Christmas Carol.'

"I can't believe we let Mickey talk us into this!" Pete said as he was getting on his costume.

"Yeah! The last thing I wanna do is some stupid Christmas play!" screeched Drizella as she and Anastasia fought over a dress.

"Stop complaining. At least we're getting paid," said Gothel as she was fixing her hair.

Of course any kind of misfortune at this festive time of year was the most desirable thing to happen, but in this particular instance, Mickey and company who originally had intended to perform the play had caught a bad case of the flu. Mickey knew the last people who would want to do a Christmas play were the villains, so the only way he could persuade them was by promising to pay them.

So in this reluctant sense, the chosen villains rehearsed for the remaining weeks and tonight, they would perform for the whole Magic Kingdom.

"I don't think it's so bad," said Anastasia.

"Not so bad? NOT SO BAD?! I hate Christmas!" shouted Drizella. "All that talk about love and joy and...ugh...giving and sharing...it's enough to make you gag!"

"But what about all the presents?" Anastasia said.

"That part I don't mind so much," Drizella said.

"I do prefer getting thing rather than giving things," said Gothel.

"Yeah, like diamonds and rubies and jewelry!" said Drizella.

"The worst part about Christmas is those annoying carolers. Stopping at your door, singing the same songs over and over and over again," said Gaston.

"I actually like Jingle Bells," said Le Fou.

Gaston responded by hitting him in the head with his wig.

"Not to mention the people waste their time believing in such frivolous figures such as Santa Claus," said Frollo.

"Santa Claus isn't real?! But I made some cookies," Anastasia said as she showed her burnt and misshapen cookies.

"If Santa saw those, he'd quit cookies all together," said Drizella.

"It's all a bit of rubbish to me," said Maleficent.

"Christmas was always a nightmare for me," said Hans. "My 12 brothers always got the best gifts while I was stuck with hands-me-downs."

Pete turned to Lotso who was finishing putting on his costume. "What about you, Lotso?" he asked.

Lotso didn't say anything, he just turned with one eye to Pete, jumped from his table and walked off.

In the hallway, Lotso stopped and tilted his head down. Like most villains, Christmas was not the best time for him, but this mainly had to do with his past. He had always seen Christmas from the store he came from, but that was as close to Christmas as he got. But most of all, at this time of the year, he always dwelled on the fact that he never got to spend a Christmas with his former owner, Daisy. Sure most of the villains did not like Christmas, but for Lots-O-Huggin' Bear, this holiday hurt him the most.

Suddenly, Ludwig Von Drake, dressed up in formal wear, and who had directed the whole production, came in and informed the villains that it was almost time to begin the play.

"Alright, let's get this over with," said Gothel.

Lotso, Le Fou, and Hans followed Ludwig to the front of the drawbridge where he told them stay put until the start of the play.

* * *

><p>To say that the crowd was skeptical about villains acting in a Christmas play would've been an understatement of the highest order. Some people were not sure what to think and others thought it would turn out to be a mess, but just came along to get a good laugh out of it. Some of the Disney heroes were intrigued at how the villains would be able to handle it and villains who were not part of the play, much like most of the crowd, did not have big expectations. But all the same, the crowd was there and as Ludwig Von Drake entered onto the stage, the play was about to begin.<p>

"Good evening! Merry Christmas, felis navidad, and all that other fancy holiday talk," said Ludwig. "I would like to welcome you all to the Magic Kingdom's interpretation of the classic holiday classic, 'A Christmas Carol.' Unfortunately, our original cast caught a bad cold and so we had to settle for the villains. But hopefully, they won't screw things up...hopefully...I pray...uh, anyway, without further ado, this is, 'A Christmas Carol.'"

With the gentle applause from the audience, Ludwig departed the stage as the play began.


	2. Frollo's Ghost

Frollo was dead: to begin with. Dead as a doornail, there was no doubt about that. Lotso knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Lotso and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Lotso was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole mourner, and his sole friend. And even Lotso was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it with an great bargain.

The mention of Frollo's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Frollo was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.

Lotso never painted out Old Frollo's name. There it stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door: Lotso and Frollo. The firm was known as Lotso and Frollo. Sometimes people new to the business called Lotso Lotso, and sometimes Frollo, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him.

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grind-stone, Lotso! A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. As he was a toy, the cold did not bother him, not his strawberry scented pink fur, nor his giant plum nose. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas.

No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often "came down" handsomely, and Lotso never did.

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, "My dear Lotso, how are you? When will you come to see me?" No beggars implored him for a small amount of money, no children asked him what time it was no man or woman ever once thought to bother Old Lotso. Even though he was small, even the tallest men feared him and felt a cold aura from him passing by them. And even though the scent of strawberries was often a delightful smell to behold, whenever anyone had even the slightest wiff of strawberries, they dreaded it for it signaled the approach of Lotso. And even looking upon the smallest strawberry made one feel uneasy.

Old Lotso sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather and he could hear the people in the court outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The time had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already- it hadn't been light all day and the fog was dense as pea soup.

Lotso often kept his eye upon his clerk, Le Fou, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Lotso had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller that practically chilled him to the bone. But he couldn't make it any larger, for Lotso kept the coal-box in his own room. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle but unfortunately, it didn't help.

Just then, a cheerful voice cried out from the door of Lotso's counting house.

"Merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried the voice. It was the voice of Lotso's nephew, Hans.

"Christmas?" Lotso responded. "Bah! Humbug!"

"Christmas a humbug, uncle? Oh come on, you don't mean that." said Hans.

"Yes I do," Lotso answered. "What is there to be merry about on Christmas? And what right do you have to be so merry? You're dirt poor."

"Well what right do you have to be so miserable? You're filthy rich," said Hans.

Lotso having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, "Bah!" again; and followed it up with "Humbug."

"Come on. Don't be so cross, uncle!" said Hans.

"Well what else can I be in a world of fools like this?" Lotso stated. "What's Christmas time anyway, but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not a penny richer; a time for buying things you ask for day in and day out, only to use them for about a week and throw them away soon after. If I had my way, every fool who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, would be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart!"

"Uncle!" Hans pleaded.

"Nephew!" returned Lotso sternly. "Keep your own opinions about Christmas and let me keep mine."

"Keep?!" repeated Hans. "But you don't keep it at all."

"And I don't plan on it either," said Lotso. "Christmas hasn't done me any good at all. Hasn't done you much good either."

"Well there are many things which I have and have not profited from," Hans said. "And Christmas is one of the things that dare I say, I have not. But I have always thought of Christmas as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time when men and women seem to open their shut-up hearts freely, and bring joy and happiness to others. And so, uncle Lotso, even though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and therefore I say, God bless it!"

Le Fou applauded at Hans enthusiastic words, which prompted Lotso to stand at his table.

"Le Fou!" Lotso snapped. "One more word out of you and you'll be celebrating your Christmas without a job!"

Quickly, Le Fou returned to his work.

"You're quite the speaker, Hans," Lotso added, turning to his nephew. "It's wonder you don't run for president."

"Don't be so grumpy, uncle Lotso," said Hans. "Come and have Christmas dinner with me tomorrow."

"No thanks," Lotso responded. "I'd rather throw myself in the trash compactor first."

"But why?" cried Hans.

"I've got more important things to think about than Christmas or a Christmas dinner. Besides, I'm surprised you can afford with the salary you and that wife of yours have. why did you marry such a poor woman anyway?" Lotso asked.

"Because I fell in love with her," Hans answered.

"I hate to break this to you but marriage for love doesn't pay the bills and it doesn't put you so-called food on the table. Now if you're done, I've got work to do," said Lotso.

"Well I'm sorry you feel this way. But I still wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!" Hans said before left the counting house, but not before wishing the same on the clerk, Le Fou.

"Humbug!" Lotso muttered. "And the nerve of my clerk, with fifteen a week, and not to mention a wife and family, blabbering about a merry Christmas. The whole thing will drive me crazy soon enough."

As Hans departed, two more gentlemen entered, asking for the owners of the establishment. Le Fou directed them to Mr. Lotso. The two were known as Honest john and Gideon.

"Well, well, have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Lotso, or Mr. Frollo?" asked Honest John.

"Mr. Frollo has been dead for seven years," Lotso replied. "In fact, he died seven years ago, tonight."

"Oh I see. Well, we have no doubt his generosity is well represented by his surviving partner," said Honest John, as Gideon handed him his papers. "You see, at this wonderful time year, my friend and I are collecting for the poor and destitute. Eh, nothing to formal, just enough for some food and comfort if it fancies you, sir."

"It doesn't. Aren't there any prisons?" Lotso asked.

"Well, yes, there are plenty of prisons," said Honest John.

"And the Union workhouses are still in operation?" Lotso asked.

"Yes, but I wish I could say they weren't," said Honest John.

"Good! Cause from the sound of it, I thought they had stopped working. Good to know they are," said Lotso.

"Well in any case, at this time of the year, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We fell that Christmas is the most appropriate time since it is a marvelous time for generosity," said Honest John. Gideon gleefully nodded. "What shall I put you down for?"

"Nothing," Lotso replied.

"Oh I see, of course! You wish to be anonymous," said Honest John.

"What I wish to be is alone!" said Lotso.

"But Mr. Lotso," Honest John pleaded.

"Look, I can't afford to make random poor people merry at Christmas! Besides, my money helps pay for the places I just mentioned. They cost enough, so those who are badly off must go there," said Lotso.

"But many can't go there and quite frankly, many would rather die," said Honest John.

"Well that's fine by me. If they would rather die, then they had better do it and decrease the surplus population. Besides it's not my problem," said Lotso.

"Isn't it?" asked Honest John.

"No, it isn't. It really isn't. There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the way out," said Lotso.

And with that, Honest John and Gideon departed.

Meanwhile the feel of Christmas was as vibrant as a newly lit candle in the town. Roast turkeys glistened with dressing outside the windows of shops, carefree children engaged in snowball fights, and the sound of carolers filled the chilly air.

Lotso himself didn't make merry at Christmastime, so it wasn't in his best interest to care about the happenings outside his counting house. But when a young lad came to his door to sing a carol, the moment he started singing, Lotso, hearing it, got off of his table with much and, rushed to the door, opened it, and yelled, 'Get out!' with so much passion, that it drove the kid away.

It was near the hour of 7:00, which meant it was closing time. Reluctantly, Lotso dismounted from his table and upon seeing his clerk, Le Fou, admitted the fact to him as he instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat.

"Let me guess, you want the day off tomorrow, am I right?" Lotso asked.

"If that's fine with you, sir?" Le Fou said.

"It's not fine and it's not fair either," Lotso said. "If I cut your pay, you would accuse me of being unfair, but at the same time, you wouldn't think I was unfair if I paid you a day's wages for no work."

"Well i-i-it's only once a year...sir," Le Fou said with a gulp.

"Heh, just a poor excuse for picking a business man's pocket every twenty-fifth of December!" said Lotso, buttoning his great-coat to the chin. "But I guess you have to have the day off. Just be here all the earlier the day after Christmas."

Le Fou promised that he would; and Lotso walked out with a growl as he wished him a Merry Christmas to which he responded, 'Humbug!

The office was closed in a twinkling, and as Le Fou turned the way he saw a bunch of boys sliding down a hill on the street, he himself slid down it about twenty times before making his way home as fast as he could.

As for Lotso, he also took his leave of his counting house and went straight for home. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms and the house itself was no Spring getaway either, but Lotso didn't mind so long as he had a house.

Going back to Lotso's previous conversation with Honest John and Gideon, let it be borne known that Lotso had thought of Frollo even once since his last mention of his seven years dead partner that night. So one might find it very surprising that when Lotso went up to his door and after having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, not a knocker, but Frollo's face.

The ghostly face stared at Lotso intently, but at the same time, oh so calming. Upon first glance, one could not measure the emotion coming from the face and Lotso himself could not as well. But after he checked his and looked at the knocker again, the face disappeared and it was a knocker once again.

To say that Lotso was not startled would've been a huge lie. But in spite of it he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.

"Bah! It's all hogwash," he said to himself before he walked up the stairs.

In his room, Lotso prepared to spend his Christmas as he usually did. He placed on his sleeping gown, nightcap, and slippers; sat next to the fire in his fireplace, and had a small bowl full of gruel.

Nothing was too different about this night. It was the same as any other night to Old Lotso. Or at least it seemed that way. For as Lotso half-finished his bowl of gruel and placed it on the small talble next to the fireplace, there was suddenly a clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain in the wine-merchant's cellar. Lotso then remembered hearing stories about ghosts in haunted houses that were described as dragging chains.

The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.

"It's all hogwash! I don't believe in ghosts!" said Lotso.

But his belief was challenged when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. It was Frollo's ghost.

Yes, it was in fact, Frollo. He looked the same as he did in life, but this time, he appeared to carry with him, chains. The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made (as Lotso observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent; that Lotso, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind.

"Who are you and want do you want?!" Lotso asked.

"Ask me who I was," Frollo said.

"Fine, who were you?" Lotso asked.

"In life, I was your partner, Claude Frollo," the spirit said.

"What!? That's ridiculous! Frollo's dead!" said Lotso.

"You don't believe in me?" said Frollo.

"No, you're just a figment of my imagination caused by indigestion. I must've had a little too much cold gruel or something," said Lotso.

At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Lotso held on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling.

"Please have mercy on me!" Lotso cried.

"Man of the worldly mind!" replied Frollo, "Do you believe in me or not?"

"I do, I do! OK?! I do!" said Lotso. "But what are you doing here?!"

"It is required of every man," Frollo returned, "That the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world-oh, woe is me!-and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!"

Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy hands.

"But what's with the chains?" Lotso asked.

"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied Frollo. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you? Or would you know the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have labored on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!"

"OK you're really glumming the moment here," said Lotso. "Say something positive."

"I have nothing positive to give," Frollo replied. "It comes from other regions, Lotso, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more is all permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. In life, my spirit never walked beyond our counting-house, never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!"

"You must've covered a lot of ground in seven years," said Lotso.

"Yes, seven years dead," said Frollo. "And travelling all the time! No rest, no peace. Only incessant torture of remorse. Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed. Not to know, that ages of incessant labor by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!"

"But you were always a good man of business," said Lotso.

"Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business! At this time of the rolling year, I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode! Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!"

Lotso shivered at Frollo's words.

"Hear me!" cried Frollo. "My time is nearly gone. I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Lotso."

"You were always a good friend to me, Frollo," said Lotso.

"You will be haunted by three spirits," Frollo resumed. "Without their visits, you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls One."

"Couldn't they all just come at once so I can get it over with?" hinted Lotso.

"Expect the second on the next night at the same hour," Frollo continued. "And expect the third upon the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, remember what has passed between us!"

With these words the specter departed through the window. Lotso rushed to the window, but saw nothing. He then closed the window, and examined the door by which Frollo had entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say "Humbug!" but stopped at the first syllable. And being tired from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or the dull conversation of Frollo's ghost, or the lateness of the hour, he went straight to bed, and instantly fell asleep.


	3. The First of the Three Spirits

Now Lotso wasn't really one to believe in ghosts, but far be it for him to disregard the words of his former partner, Frollo. Plus, after seeing him as a ghost himself, who was he to deny it any other way? But regardless, he remained asleep for the past couple of hours, until he was awoken by the sound of a bell. Remembering what Frollo had told him, he quickly sat up in his bed, listening carefully to each gong and wandered his eyes, looking for any sign of the first spirit.

As the hour bell tolled, but he did not see any sign of the spirit, figuring now that it was all a humbug, but when the hour bell finally tolled, a green light flashed in the room. He pulled back the curtains and in fact, it was the first of the spirits that Frollo had mentioned.

It was a strange figure indeed. A woman with green skin, wearing a cloth of the purest white. The horns on her head were just as white. She held a long scepter with a branch of fresh green holly at the tip.

"Are you the one of the three spirits?" asked Lotso.

"Yes, I am!" said the spirit.

The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.

"Who, are you?" Lotso demanded.

"I am Maleficent, the Ghost of Christmas Past," the spirit said.

"Long Past?" inquired Lotso.

"No. Your past," Maleficent said.

Maleficent's scepter glowed with the brightest glow and Lotso quickly shielded his eyes and got back under the covers of his bed.

"Hiding again I see," said Maleficent. "That seems to be your top priority since you hide yourself from the rest of the world. You choose not to make merry at Christmastime and claim that you can't make other people merry, though if you ask me, you are only hiding your own insecurities."

Lotso confronted the spirit on that statement. But the issue was not important to her. What was important to Lotso's welfare and reclamation.

"Bear but a touch of my robe," said the spirit.

Reluctantly, but surely, Lotso obliged to the spirit's request. And with that, Maleficent waved around her scepter and a green fog and flames surrounded them both. Lotso was frightened, but was also shocked to find that the flames did not hurt him.

When the smoke and flames cleared, they stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.

"Oh my god!" said Lotso, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. "I remember this place. I spent most of my childhood here."

The spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man's sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odors floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten!

"Well, Lotso, is that a tear I see?" asked Maleficent.

"What?! No! I just got snow in my eyes," said Lotso.

"Do you remember the way?" inquired Maleficent.

"Remember it?!" cried Lotso. "I could've found this place blindfolded.

"Strange that you remember it so well after having forgotten it for so many years," said Maleficent.

Lotso went to greet some of his old classmates as they rode by, but they did not hear him.

"These are merely shadows of things that have been," said Maleficent "They cannot see or hear us. And look, there is your school, not quite deserted. A solitary child, neglected by his friends remains. Left all alone on Christmas day."

Lotso knew what Maleficent was talking about and drooped her head.

They went inside and low and behold, next to a small fire was Lotso. Indeed left all alone for the holidays; sad, miserable, lonely.

This scene directed Lotso back to a previous statement he had said to his nephew about Christmas never doing him any good.

But then Maleficent waved her wand again and the scene changed.

Lotso was older and for another Christmas, there he was, alone again, when all the other boys had gone home for the jolly holidays.

Lotso looked at the Maleficent with a mournful shaking of his head as his former self walked up and down the room despairingly and then glanced anxiously towards the door.

It opened; and two girls, as old as he, old a dark haired girl and other a red haired girl, came darting in, fighting with each other to get to him first. Finally, the dark haired girl made it to him first and grabbed him. "Dear, dear brother!" the girl said.

"Drizella!" exclaimed Lotso.

Just then, the red haired girl knocked Drizella over and grabbed Lotso herself.

"We've come to bring you home, dear brother!" said the red haired girl as she swung Lotso around. "To bring you home, home, home!"

"Home, Anastasia?" returned Lotso.

"Yes!" said Drizella who shoved her sister aside. "Home, forever! And ever and ever and ever!"

"Mother is so much kinder than she used to be, that home's like a dream!" Anastasia said as bumped Drizella aside with an elbow.

"She spoke so gently to us one night that we were not afraid to ask her again if you might come home," said Drizelle.

"And he said yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" exclaimed Anastasia.

"And she sent us in a coach to bring you!" said Drizella.

"You two are quite the ladies," exclaimed Lotso.

The two sisters clapped their hands and laughed. They patted Lotso on the head and then embraced him. They then picked him up and took him with childish eagerness, towards the door.

"A little clumsy, your sisters," said Maleficent.

"A lot clumsy actually," corrected Lotso. "And not the best singers either."

"But they had large hearts," Maleficent said.

"They died as young woman," Lotso said as a tear dripped from his face.

"And one of them had children, I believe," said Maleficent.

"Anastasia," Lotso returned. "She had one child."

"True," said Maleficent. "Your nephew!"

Lotso seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, "Yes."

"Come, let us see more of your past," said Maleficent.

Lotso slowly grabbed Maleficent's cloth and the two teleported again. This time, they appeared in front of an old warehouse.

Maleficent stopped at the door of the warehouse and asked Lotso if he remembered it.

"Remember it?!" said Lotso. "I used to work here!"

They went in and there stood Lotso's old boss, Gaston, sitting behind a high desk.

"Hey, it's old Gaston! Bless my soul! It's Gaston alive again!" exclaimed Lotso.

Gaston laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice:

"Yo ho, there! Lotso, Frollo!"

Scrooge's former self came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-'prentice and soon to be partner.

"No more work tonight, boys!" said Gaston. "It's Christmas Eve, so put down those pencils and let's have a good ole time!"

So with that, Lotso and Frollo cleared everything in a flash. In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Gaston, or Ursula as she was known, with one vast substantial smile. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress. In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and every how. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them! When this result was brought about, old Gaston, clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose. But scorning rest, upon his reappearance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler had been carried home, exhausted, on a shutter, and he were a bran-new man resolved to beat him out of sight, or perish.

There were more dances, and there was cake, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." Then old Gaston stood out to dance with Ursula.

During the whole of this time, Lotso's seemingly cold heart had started to melt a little. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest feeling. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and Frollo were turned from them, that he remembered Maleficent, who was looking upon him.

"A small matter," said Maleficent, "A small matter to make these silly folks so happy."

"Small?!" echoed Lotso. "Hogwash!"

"Isn't it? It's only a little money to say the least. A few pound to be sure. Is that really enough to warrant him this praise?" asked Maleficent.

"It's not about the money!" said Lotso, angered by the remark. "No! The kind of happiness he gives can't be measured in gold or anything like that."

He felt the spirit's glance, and stopped.

"Is something the matter?" asked Maleficent.

"No, nothing, nothing at all," said Lotso.

"Are you sure?" the ghost insisted.

"Yes," Lotso said quickly.

As the party continued, his glance turned to his former self walking towards a young maiden. A fair maiden with long black hair and wearing a red dress. And upon that instance, a feeling of both joy and heartache befell Lotso.

It was none other than Gothel. His former love.

Gothel had previously rejected the formers who had asked her for a dance, so Lotso's former self was of course nervous to approach her. But nonetheless, he sucked it up and walked to her.

"Um...Miss Gothel..." Lotso said.

Gothel, suddenly noticing the scent of strawberries, looked down and saw Lotso at her feet.

"You...look lovely this evening...might I have the honor of a dance?" Lotso said.

"Well I don't usually dance with men smaller than me, but, I suppose I could make you the exception," said Gothel.

So, picking him up, Gothel and Lotso danced.

At that moment, for the both of them, it was as if time stood still.

"Well, for a small bear, you dance divinely," said Gothel.

"You're not so bad yourself," Lotso returned.

They danced and danced and danced for the rest of the night.

Maleficent waved her wand again and the two were in a house were Lotso's former self stood before Gothel on a table, dropped on one knee. He took a small box out of his pocket and opened it to her, revealing a diamond ring.

"Madame Gothel, will you marry me?" Lotso said.

"Yes!" Gothel exclaimed with joy as she grabbed Lotso and the two kissed.

As Lotso watched on, he remembered the moment as one of the happiest he had ever experienced in his life. But then, he remembered that one other moment and as he did, Maleficent again waved her wand.

"My time grows short," Maleficent observed.

This was not addressed to Lotso, or to any one whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For again, Lotso saw himself. He was now in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of the growing tree would fall.

He was not alone, but sat by the side of Gothel in a mourning dress, in whose eyes there were tears.

"It matters little," Gothel said. "Another love has replaced me; another idol."

"What are you talking about? What idol?" Lotso asked.

"A golden one," said Gothel.

"This is a harsh world, Gothel. And in it you have only two choices; you either eat or be eaten and forgive me if I don't want an empty plate on my table," said Lotso.

"You fear the world too much," Gothel answered. "You've changed so much since that day we met at Gaston's. I would like very much to say for the better."

"I haven't changed towards you," Lotso said.

Gothel shook her head.

"Our contract is an old one," said Gothel. "It was made when we were both poor and content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune. You were a different man then."

"I was a poor boy!" he said, banging his fists on the table.

"In wealth, yes, you were poor. But in your heart, you were the richest beyond anyone who saw you. But now your pursuit of wealth in the physical affair has changed you. And so with a deep, deep, oh so deep love in my heart for the man I knew that Christmas night, I release you, Lotso," said Gothel.

"Have I ever asked to be released? Have I ever asked to stop our marriage?" Lotso said.

"In words, no. Not at all," said Gothel. "But let me ask you. If you had to choose, would you on your best day choose a penniless girl like me?"

He seemed to yield to the justice of this accusation in spite of himself. But he said with a struggle, "Well..."

Gothel turned to him and gave him the ring he had once given her.

"As I said, with the hope that one day that heart that beated oh so lovely once upon a time ago will beat again, I release you, Lotso. May you be happy in the life you have chosen!"

She left him, and they parted.

"Show me no more! SHOW ME NO MORE!" Lotso yelled as he dropped to the ground. "No more! No more! Show me no more!"

"These are the shadows of what has been," said Maleficent. "Do not blame me. For it is not my fault."

As Lotso shook on the ground with combined grief, anger, and sorrow, the green mist surrounded him again. When it cleared, Lotso was in his bedroom again. He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not, but at the moment, he didn't care think as he sank into a heavy sleep.


	4. The Second of the Three Spirits

Now, being prepared for almost anything, Lotso was not by any means prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and center of a blaze of ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at; and was sometimes apprehensive that he might be at that very moment an interesting case of spontaneous combustion, without having the consolation of knowing it. At last, however, he began to think-as you or I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too-at last, I say, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door.

The moment Lotso's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.

It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petrification of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see; who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Lotso, as he came peeping round the door.

"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in! and know me better, man! Well don't just stand there, get your fuzzy butt in here!"

Lotso entered timidly, and hung his head before this spirit.

"I'm Pete, the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the spirit with a heavy chortle.

The spirit was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.

"Haven't seen the likes of me before have ya?!" exclaimed Pete as he took a bite out of a giant drumstick.

"Nope, never," Lotso answered.

Pete dismounted from Lotso's couch and approached him. "Well that's probably because you've done spent a little too much time in that dern' countin' house of yers.' Constant dollar bills and coins in your eyes, ya can't even tell left from right," he said.

"A good business man always seeks good profit," said Lotso.

"Yeah, but what about the profit of others, hmmm? Especially around this time of year, there are lots of people who need lots and lots of profit!" said Pete.

"And I guess you're here to show me that," Lotso said.

"Nothin' gets past you, does it, fuzzball, AHAHAHAAAA!" Pete exclaimed.

"Well," Lotso said submissively, "Lead the way."

"Grab a hold of my robe and let's get-a-goin'" said Pete.

Lotso did as he was told, and held it fast.

Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit, and punch, all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little snow-storms.

The house fronts looked black enough, and the windows blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs, and with the dirtier snow upon the ground; which last deposit had been ploughed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; furrows that crossed and re-crossed each other hundreds of times where the great streets branched off; and made intricate channels, hard to trace in the thick yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the shortest streets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, whose heavier particles descended in a shower of sooty atoms, as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, by one consent, caught fire, and were blazing away to their dear hearts' content. There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain.

For, the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball-better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest- laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers' shops were still half open, and the fruiterers' were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish Onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence to dangle from conspicuous hooks, that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squat and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that there was something going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow and passionless excitement.

The Grocers'! oh, the Grocers'! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint and subsequently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.

But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores of bye-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers' shops. The sight of these poor revellers appeared to interest the spirit very much, for he stood with Lotso beside him in a baker's doorway, and taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was! God love it, so it was!

In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners and the progress of their cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker's oven; where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too.

"What is that you're sprinkling from your torch?" asked Lotso.

"Why, Christmas spirit of course," answered Pete.

"And you sprinkle it on any kind of dinner?" asked Lotso.

"To any kindly given. But to a poor one most of all," answered Pete.

"Why?" asked Lotso.

"Because the needs it most, ya dummy!" Pete answered before knocking Lotso on the head with his torch.

"Well if the poor need it most, why do you deny them their happiness?" asked Lotso.

"I?!" cried Pete.

"Well there must be many others who are in need. Do you leave them miserable as well?" asked Lotso.

"I?!" Pete repeated. "Many things are done in the name of good will, but acts made out of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness, must be attributed to those who are truly responsible. But enough of that for now, we've got more things to do, more places to see. One place in particular."

Pete led Lotso straight to the home of his clerk, Le Fou.

It wasn't much, but with what Lotso had paid him, it was really all he could afford.

Then up rose the Queen of Hearts, Le Fou's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by one of Le Fou's daughters, also brave in ribbons; while one of Le Fou's sons plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable Parks. And now two smaller kids of Le Fou's, a boy and a girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young kids danced about the table, and exalted Le Fou to the skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.

Then in came Le Fou, the father, with at least three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable; and Tiny Sid upon his shoulder who had a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame.

As he set Little Sid on the floor, he was immediately grabbed by the Queen who hugged him tightly to the point of almost suffocation and drowned him with an array of kisses.

"Good to see you, my darling husband!" the Queen exclaimed.

"You...too...dear..." Le Fou said, regaining his breath.

"And how did our little Sid behave in church?" asked the Queen, when Le Fou hugged his sons and daughters to his heart's content.

"Like an angel," said Le Fou, "He was a little mischievous from time to time, but overall, a complete angel. You know, somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see."

Le Fou's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Sid was growing strong and hearty.

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool before the fire; and while Le Fou, turning up his cuffs-as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby-compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round and put it on the hob to simmer; his two ubiquitous young sons went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course-and in truth it was something very like it in that house. The Queen of Hearts made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Le Fou mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; the Queen sweetened up the apple-sauce; Le Fou dusted the hot plates then took Tiny Sid beside him in a tiny corner at the table; his two young sons set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as the Queen, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Sid, excited by Le Fou's two young children, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!

There never was such a goose. Le Fou said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as the Queen of Hearts said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and Le Fou's youngest son in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, after cleaning the plates, the Queen of Hearts left the room alone-too nervous to bear witnesses-to take the pudding up and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose-a supposition at which two of Le Fou's young kids became livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute the Queen entered-flushed, but smiling proudly-with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Le Fou said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by the Queen of Hearts since their marriage. The Queen of Hearts said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all of Lef Fou's family drew round the hearth, in what he called a circle, meaning half a one; and at his elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Le Fou served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then he proposed:

"Merry Christmas, everybody! God bless us all!"

Which all the family re-echoed.

"Yeah, yeah, God bless us every one!" said Tiny Sid, the last of all.

He sat very close to his father's side upon his little stool. Le fou held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.

"Pete?" said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before. "What will happen to the kid? Will he make it?"

If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, I see a vacant seat where the child used to be. Pretty soon, Tiny Sid will die," said Pete.

"What? No!" said Lotso.

"But oh well," said Pete.

"'Oh well?! Is that all you can say?!" said Lotso.

"So what if he dies? It'll just decrease the surplus population," said Pete.

Lotso hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief.

"Maybe the next time you go and flap those gums of yers, maybe you should take time and realize just what surplus population is!" said Pete.

Lotso bent before the ghost's rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes upon the ground. But he raised them speedily, on hearing his own name.

"And now a toast to my boss, Mr. Lotso, the founder of this feast!"

"FOUNDER OF THE FEAST INDEED!" shouted the Queen of Hearts, reddening, which caused her husband to fly into the wall. "I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it."

"My dear," said Bob, "the children! Christmas Day."

"It should be Christmas Day, I am sure," said she, "on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert! Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow!"

"But my dear, it's Christmas Day," said Le Fou.

"Bah! It would only be Christmas Day in which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling, despicable man as Mr. Lotso!" said the Queen

"I know. He is a bit rough around the edges, but he probably just acts that way because he's not good at acting nice," said Le Fou. "But let's toast to him anyway, for Christmas Day? Hmmmm?"

"Oh very well," said the Queen. "Since it is Christmas, I'll drink to him...BUT I DON'T HAVE TO LIKE IT! A Meery Christmas and a Happy New Year to Mr. Lotso. He'll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt!"

The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness. Tiny Sid drank it last of all. Lotso was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.

"Well, that just about does it. Time for us to get goin," said Pete.

Lotso grabbed onto Pete's robe and this time, the two teleported away and into another house, but this one was more elegant than Le Fou's abode, upon which he discovered his nephew, Hans, with a group of people gathered together, talking to them. During the conversation, they were poking fun at him, making jokes and whatnot.

"Yep, he said that Christmas was a humbug," said Hans. "And he meant it too!"

The other guests laughed at his words.

"Yeah, I tried to get him to come but he just wouldn't have any of it," said Hans. "But it's okay. I feel sorry for him. I couldn't be angry with him if I tried. Besides, what does he lose by not coming? Not much of a dinner."

After tea, they had some music. For they were a musical family, and knew what they were about, when they sung a Glee or Catch, I can assure you, which had been familiar to the two children who fetched Lotso from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded, all the things that ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own happiness with his own hands.

But they didn't devote the whole evening to music.

Lotso's niece was not one of the blind-man's buff party, but was made comfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in a snug corner, where the ghost and Lotso were close behind her. But she joined in the forfeits, and loved her love to admiration with all the letters of the alphabet. Likewise at the game of How, When, and Where, she was very great, and to the secret joy of Lotso's nephew, beat her sisters hollow: though they were sharp girls too. There might have been twenty people there, young and old, but they all played, and so did Lotso; for wholly forgetting in the interest he had in what was going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, he sometimes came out with his guess quite loud, and very often guessed quite right, too; for the sharpest needle, best Whitechapel, warranted not to cut in the eye, was not sharper than Lotso; blunt as he took it in his head to be.

The shost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon him with such favor, that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay until the guests departed. But this the spirit said could not be done.

"Just a few more minutes," said Lotso. "They're playing a new game."

It was a game called Yes and No, where Lotso's nephew had to think of something, and the rest must find out what; he only answering to their questions yes or no, as the case was. The brisk fire of questioning to which he was exposed, elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in London, and walked about the streets, and wasn't made a show of, and wasn't led by anybody, and didn't live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh question that was put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp. At last, Hans' wife cried out:

"I have found it out! I know what it is, Hans! I know what it is!"

"What is it?" cried Hans.

"It's your Uncle L-l-l-ots-s-s-o-o-o!" she cried.

Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal sentiment, though some objected that the reply to "Is it a bear?" ought to have been "Yes;" inasmuch as an answer in the negative was sufficient to have diverted their thoughts from Mr. Lotso, supposing they had ever had any tendency that way.

"He has given us plenty of merriment, I am sure," said Hans, "And it would be ungrateful not to drink his health, so therefore I say, 'Uncle Lotso!'"

"Well! Uncle Lotso!" they cried.

"A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the old bear, whatever he is!" said Lotso's nephew. "He wouldn't take it from me, but may he have it, nevertheless. Uncle Lotso!"

Uncle Lotso had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart, that he would have pledged the unconscious company in return, and thanked them in an inaudible speech, if the ghost had given him time. But the whole scene passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by his nephew; and he and the spirit were again upon their travels.

It was a long night, but at last, the bell struck twelve.

"Well, that just about does it for me," said Pete.

"You're leaving already?" said Lotso.

"Yeah, I've got Christmas party to get to. All my close relatives are gonna be there. Plus, I gotta make sure Cousin Brute doesn't eat all the pudding again this year. The Ghost of Christmas Future should be comin' by anytime now. Keep your eyes open. Ta ta!" Pete said before he departed.

As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old Claude Frollo, and lifting up his eyes, beheld the most terrifying sight his very eyes had ever seen.


	5. The Last of the Spirits

An ominous dark cloud formed in the clouds. Lightning crackled and thundered. And finally, a large mountain rose from the ground near where Lotso was standing. As the little bear looked on in terror, a part of the mountain spread, revealing two large wings, and from out of the came a pair of yellowish, demonic eyes; the eyes of the devil.

"Are you the Ghost of Christmas Future?" said Lotso.

The spirit, known as Chernabog, nodded.

"And you're about to show me the things that have not happened, but will happen?" Lotso pursued.

Chernabog nodded again.

Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Lotso feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The spirit paused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to recover.

But Lotso was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud, there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black.

"I know you're just here to do me good, but I'm afraid I fear you more than any ghost I've seen so far. But, lead on," Lotso said.

It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them. Lotso followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him along.

They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they were, in the heart of it; on 'Change, amongst the merchants; who hurried up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their great gold seals; and so forth, as Lotso had seen them often.

The spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Lotso advanced to listen to their talk.

"No," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, known as Ratcliff. "I don't know much about it, either way. I only know he's dead."

"When did he die?" inquired another, known as Jafar, along with Iago.

"Last night, I believe," answered Ratcliff.

"Finally!" said Iago. "I thought the old furball would never die!"

"Well, what was the matter with him?" asked a third, know as the Coachman, taking a vast quantity of snuff out of a very large snuff-box.

"Not sure," Ratcliff said with a yawn.

"What has he done with his money?" asked a fourth, known as Shere Kahn, that shook like the gills of a turkey-cock.

"I haven't heard," said Ratcliff, yawning again. "He hasn't left it to me. That's all I know."

"Or to me either!" belted Iago.

This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.

"It's likely to be a very cheap funeral," said Ratcliff; "For the life of me, I can't think of anybody who would go to it."

"I wouldn't mind going if lunch is provided," observed the Coachman.

Another laugh.

The three men and the tiger strolled away.

He knew these men, also, perfectly. They were men of business: very wealthy, and of great importance. He had made a point always of standing well in their esteem: in a business point of view, that is; strictly in a business point of view.

Dark and ominous, beside him stood Chernabog, with his outstretched hand. When he roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied from the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, that the Unseen Eyes were looking at him keenly. It made him shudder, and feel very cold.

They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, where Lotso had never been to before, although he recognized its situation, and its bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow; the shops and houses wretched; the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly. Alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of smell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the whole quarter reeked with crime, with filth, and misery.

Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, beetling shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and greasy offal, were bought. Upon the floor within, were piled up heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, and refuse iron of all kinds. Secrets that few would like to scrutinize were bred and hidden in mountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and sepulchres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by a charcoal stove, made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal, nearly seventy years of age; who had screened himself from the cold air without, by a frousy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters, hung upon a line; and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement.

Lotso and Chernabog came into the presence of this man, just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. But she had scarcely entered, when another woman, similarly laden, came in too; and she was closely followed by a man in faded black, who was no less startled by the sight of them, than they had been upon the recognition of each other. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which the old man with the pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh.

"Let the charwoman alone to be the first!" cried she who had entered first. "Let the laundress alone to be the second; and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third."

"You couldn't have met in a better place," said the man, known as McCleach, removing his pipe from his mouth. "Come on in! Hehehehe! So, gentlemen, and lady, what ya got for me today?"

The parlour was the space behind the screen of rags. McCleach raked the fire together with an old stair-rod, and having trimmed his smoky lamp (for it was night), with the stem of his pipe, put it in his mouth again.

While he did this, the woman, known as Cruella De Vil who had already spoken threw her bundle on the floor, and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool; crossing her elbows on her knees, and looking with a bold defiance at the other two.

"Well that's nothing compared to what I've go," said the second woman, known as Madame Medusa, who showed her pile.

"Here's my bundle, Mcleach," said the third woman, known as Marina.

McCleach went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it, and having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large and heavy roll of some dark stuff.

"What are these? Bed-curtains?!" asked McCleach

"Yep," Marina answered.

"What? Did you just take'em down, rings and all, with him lying there?" asked McCleach.

"Sure, why not?" said Marina.

"Ehehehehehe! Well I must say, you certainly know how to make a fortune," said McCleach.

"Here. I also got his blankets too," said Marina

"His blankets?" asked McCleach.

"It couldn't be anyone else's?" replied Medusa. "But I don't think he's gonna get too cold where he's going."

"I hope the old coot didn't die of anything catching? Huh?" said McCleach, stopping in his work, and looking up.

"Ha, ha!" laughed the Cruella, when McCleach, producing a flannel bag with money in it, told out their several gains upon the ground. "It's rather ironic isn't it? The old fool didn't take good care of himself when he was alive, but he's more than taking care of us now that he's dead! Ha, ha, ha!"

Lotso listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat grouped about their spoil, in the scanty light afforded by McCleach's lamp, he viewed them with a detestation and disgust, which could hardly have been greater, though they had been obscene demons, marketing the corpse itself.

"Oh, I get. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way, now. Merciful Heaven, what's this!"

He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language.

The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Lotso glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed; and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.

Lotso glanced towards Chernabog. Its steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Lotso's part, would have disclosed the face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the spector at his side.

No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge's ears, and yet he heard them when he looked upon the bed. He thought, if this man could be raised up now, what would be his foremost thoughts? Avarice, hard-dealing, griping cares? They have brought him to a rich end, truly!

He lay, in the dark empty house, with not a man, a woman, or a child, to say that he was kind to me in this or that, and for the memory of one kind word I will be kind to him. A cat was tearing at the door, and there was a sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearth-stone. What they wanted in the room of death, and why they were so restless and disturbed, Lotso did not dare to think.

"Spirit!" Lotso said, "I think I know what or should I say 'who' is in that bed."

Chernabog pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.

"No, no, no, I can't do it, I just can't do it!" said Lotso.

In response, Chernabog spread his dark wings before him for a moment, and withdrawing them, transported him and Lotso to LeFou's house; the dwelling he had visited before; and found the mother and the children seated round the fire.

Quiet. Very quiet. Le Fou's children were as still as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at their mother

"Your father's late again. But then again, he has been walking slower than he used to since...Sid...left us..." said the Queen as she started to break into tears. But with her strength, she calmed herself. "But your father loved him so."

As if on cue, Le Fou entered into the abode.

The Queen hurried out to meet him; he had need of it, poor fellow-came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then two of his children got upon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek, against his face, as if they said, "Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved!"

Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family.

"Did you go to see him?" said the Queen.

"Yes, dear," returned Le Fou. "I wish you could have been there. It would have done you good to see how nice a place it is. But you'll see it often. I promised him that I would visit him every Sunday. Oh, Tiny Sid. My little child."

He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he could have helped it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than they were.

He left the room, and went up-stairs into the room above, which was lighted cheerfully, and hung with Christmas. There was a chair set close beside the child, and there were signs of some one having been there, lately. Poor Le Fou sat down in it, and when he had thought a little and composed himself, he kissed the little face. He was reconciled to what had happened, and went down again quite happy.

They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother working still.

"Spirit," said Lotso. "I have a feel our time together is almost up. I probably already know this, but who was a man lying dead in the bed?"

Chernabog waved his hands and the two were now in a churchyard.

Chernabog, once again towering over Lotso, stood among the graves, and pointed down to one. He advanced towards it trembling.

"Just tell me one thing. Are these the shadows of the things that will be, or what might be?"

Still Chernabog pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.

Lotso crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, LOTSO.

"Spirit!" Lotso cried on his knees. "I'm not the man I was. I've seen the error of my ways, and I know I can change them. I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not forget the lessons the lessons that they have so generously taught me!"

He bowed in agony to Chernabog who gave a sly smile before he raised his hands and shrouded Lotso in deep darkness. As the darkness surrounded him, he wriggled and struggled until at last, he found himself once again in his bed.


	6. The End of It

YES! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in!

"I'm back! I'm alive! I'M ALIVE!" Lotso repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. "Oh Claude Frollo! Thank you old friend! On my hand and knees, thank you!"

He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the spirit, and his face was wet with tears.

"They are not torn down," cried Lotso, folding one of his bed-curtains in his arms. "They are not torn down, they're still here!" His hands were busy with his garments all this time; turning them inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to every kind of extravagance.

"I'm as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. A merry Christmas to everybody and happy New Year to the whole world.

He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded.

"There's the saucepan that the gruel was in!" cried Lotso, starting off again, and going round the fireplace. "There's the door, by which the Ghost of Claude Frollo entered! There's the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat! There's the window where I saw the wandering spirits! I'm not crazy! It all happened!"

Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs!

He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!

"Wait, what day is it?! I've got to know!" Lotso exclaimed as took a large stool and climbed up to the window.

He opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious! Glorious!

"Hey, you down there! What's today?!" cried Lotso, calling downward to a guy in Sunday clothes. He was known as King Candy.

"Are you addressing me, sir?" returned Candy, with all his might of wonder.

"Yeah, what is today?" said Lotso.

"Today?!" replied Candy. "Why it's Christmas Day of course, aheheheh!"

"Christmas Day!" Lotso said to himself. "I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. Well why not? They can do anything they want! Listen, do you know the Poultry shop in the next street, at the corner?"

"I sure do!," replied Candy.

"Do you know if they've sold the prize Turkey that's hanging by the window?" asked Lotso.

"The one ten times as big as me?" returned Candy.

"Yes, yes! The very same," said Lotso.

"It's still hanging there now," said Candy.

"Great to hear! Go and buy it!" said Lotso.

"Have you lost your marbles?!" exclaimed Lotso.

"No, no, no no, I'm serious," said Lotso. "Go and buy it, and tell the guys to bring it here, and I'll tell them where to take it. Do that and I'll pay you. Do it in less than five minutes and I'll pay you double!"

And with that, Candy was off like a shot.

"I'll send it to Le Fou's!" whispered Lotso, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. "And he won't know who sent it to him."

The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one, but write it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open the street door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. As he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker caught his eye.

"I definitely won't forget what happened here," Lotso said.

Soon, a man with the mentioned turkey had arrived.

"Hey there, my good man! Merry Christmas!" Lotso said.

It was a Turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped 'em short off in a minute, like sticks of sealing-wax.

"Why, it's impossible to carry that the whole way, sir. You need a cab," said Lotso.

The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried.

He dressed himself "all in his best," and at last got out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands behind him, Lotso regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured fellows said, "Good morning, sir! A merry Christmas to you!" And Lotso said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.

He had not gone far, when he came across Honest John and Gideon, who had walked into his counting-house the day before.

"Ah, just the gentlemen I was looking for" said Lotso.

"Mr. Lotso?" said Honest John.

"That's my name, and after the way I treated you both last night, I wouldn't blame you if my name was the last one you wanted to hear. But before I go, about that donation to the poor"-Lotso whispered in Honest John's ear.

"My goodness!" cried Honest John, as if his breath were taken away. "Mr. Lotso, are you serious?"

"And not a penny less," said Lotso.

"I really don't know what to say," replied Honest John.

"Don't say anything," retorted Scrooge. "Just come and see me later on today. Thank you and God Bless you."

He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk-that anything-could give him so much happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew's house.

He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it.

"Is your master at home, my dear?" said Lotso Hans' butler.

"Yes, sir," the butler said.

"Where is he?" said Lotso.

"He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I'll show you up-stairs, if you please," said the butler.

"Thank you, sir," said Lotso, with his hand already on the dining-room lock.

He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see that everything is right.

"Hans," said Lotso.

"Uncle Lotso?" said Hans.

"Yep, it's me. I have come for Christmas dinner. If you'll have me," Lotso said.

Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!

The next morning, he was at work.. Oh, he was early there. And as he suspected, Le Fou was late! The clock struck nine. No Le Fou. A quarter past. No Le Fou. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Lotso sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the tank.

His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock.

"Le Fou!" growled Lotso, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it. "You're late."

"Yes, well, sorry about that, sir," said Le Fou.

"You should be," said Lotso. "Come over here."

"I'm sorry sir, but it's only once a year," pleaded Le Fou, appearing from the tank. "I was having quite a time with the family last night."

"Now you listen to me," said Scrooge, "I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the tank again; "And therefore I am about to raise your salary!"

"W-what?" said Le Fou.

"Yep! Raise your salary! A very merry Christmas, Le Fou." said Lotso, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. "I'll raise your salary, and do anything I can to help your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a bowl of Christmas punch! Well don't stand there with your mouth hanging open, make up the fires, and buy us some more coal! It's freezing in here!"

And with that, Le Fou rushed out of the counting house.

Lotso was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Sid, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old town knew, or any other town for that matter. He never saw Frollo or the spirits again, but he kept their lessons to heart; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Sid observed:

"Yeah, yeah, God Bless Us, Everyone."


	7. After the Play

So after it all, despite the speculation and the doubts, when it was all said and done, and the villains approached the stage, they were met a sincere and rousing standing ovation.

They didn't bother to bow, but accepted the applause anyway.

Later in the dressing room, the villains all took off their costumes.

"Ahh! Glad that's over!" said Drizella.

"I thought it was actually kinda fun," said Anastasia.

"Fun?! We weren't even the stars!" said Drizella.

"Well at least now we can collect our money and go home," said Gothel.

"Agreed," said the Queen of Hearts. "I've had as much Christmas as I can stand for one play."

It seemed as though the villains were more than happy to put the Christmas play behind them. But as they had gotten out of their costumes and into to their usual wear, something strange had befallen them. It was a weird sensation that their bodies had never experienced before, it was confusing to highest level.

From Jafar, to Shere Khan, to Drizella, the Queen of Hearts, even Maleficent; they all had this same strange feeling. But what was it? What was this feeling that had slowly, but surely overcome them?

For the longest, they couldn't figure out what it was, until Maleficent pointed it out. "I think this is...the Christmas...spirit..." she said.

Upon hearing this, the other villains were shocked. Could it really be possible that they of all people, the villains, were actually felling the spirit of the holidays?

As much as they tried to deny it, it wasn't far from the truth. Even though they didn't want to admit it, they actually were having somewhat of a good time during the play. With their egos, they couldn't help but go over the top in their performances.

"How can this be?" asked Cruella.

"We're villains, we're not suppose to feel like this on Christmas!" said Jafar.

"It's quite befuddling actually," said Shere Khan.

As bizarre as it was, the villains just couldn't shake it off. For the first time in any of their lives, they actually felt like doing something...good, something that benefitted people other than themselves. They felt like being...generous and kind and unselfish.

* * *

><p>The next morning, the Disney characters along with the rest of the inhabitants of the Magic Kingdom were given mysterious invitations to Cinderella Castle. Led by Mickey and Minnie, they approached the door.<p>

Mickey knocked on the door and to their shock, Cruella answered.

"Mickey, Minnie, darlings!" Cruella exclaimed. "Do come in, won't you?"

Cruella guided the guests to the main ballroom where a cavalcade of Christmas decorations littered the hall.

In the center of the room, a humungous tree covered with decoration and lit with the brightest lights stood. And in front of it stood each and every one of the Disney Villains with presents in their hands.

"What? What is all this?" Mickey asked.

"Well as hard as this may be to believe, for one day we've actually had a change of heart," said Gothel.

"You're right, it is hard to believe," said Minnie.

"Even you, Stepmother? And Drizella and Anastasia?" asked Cinderella.

"Don't get used to it," said Tremaine. "This is only for one year."

Even if it was true and it was in fact for one year, Cinderella still couldn't help but smile.

And with that, the villains handed out presents left and right and commenced with a holiday celebration.

To say this was an utter shock to the other residents of the Magic Kingdom would be a gross understatement. They had never before seen the Disney Villains act like this. But it actually was quite refreshing; them being friendly, having fun, sharing in the Christmas spirit; even if it was probably the only time it would ever happen, they all embraced and enjoyed it while it lasted.

But the best was still to come.

Later that night, all the characters, heroes and villains alike, gathered outside, in front of the castle. Jafar and Maleficent, using their magic staffs, creating a barrage of fireworks in the sky.

The crowd looked in awe at the magnificence of the display.

Inspired by this, Mickey gathered up all the characters, including the villains, and they all joined together for a Christmas song.

* * *

><p><em>Silent night, h<em>_oly night_

_All is calm, all is bright_

_Round young virgin_

_Mother and child_

_Holy infant so_

_Tender and mild_

_Sleep in heavenly peace_

_Sleep in heavenly peace_

* * *

><p><strong>Merry Christmas<strong>

**From the Disney Villains**


End file.
